


What's In A Name?

by gutsandglitter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:19:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutsandglitter/pseuds/gutsandglitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The history of their relationship lies within what Mycroft calls Greg. Fluffy Mystrade drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's In A Name?

When they first met, Mycroft called him “Detective Inspector.” Greg had the good sense not to ask how the handsome man in the three-piece suit knew his rank. It made sense when he explained that he was Sherlock’s brother, but it was unsettling nonetheless. He found himself agreeing to keep tabs on the consulting detective, though he snorted at the idea of being paid for it. 

When the elder Holmes finally worked up the courage to ask out the silver-haired detective, he called him Lestrade. People had been calling him Lestrade since Uni, this was nothing new. But the way Mycroft said it…it was like he caressed each syllable as it left his lips. Coming from the dapper man, “Lestrade, would you like to accompany me to dinner?” sounded like the most romantic phrase in the English language.

“Gregory” had been reserved for after the H.O.U.N.D. incident, when Mycroft realized what danger he had put the detective in. Greg had been upset and slightly woozy from the drugs, had burst into Mycroft’s office yelling obscenities on the top of his lungs. He didn’t stop yelling until Mycroft firmly placed one hand on each of his shoulders and said, “Gregory, I am sorry. I had no idea.” 

The first “Greg” had come out as a stifled moan the first time they made love. Greg almost thought he had imagined it until it was repeated with urgency moments before Mycroft came. 

After that, he was “love” or “my love.” When most people said love, it was usually just a turn of phrase. But when Mycroft said it, he meant it. Every time he called Greg “love” he poured his soul into it. Even in simple requests like, “Could you put the kettle on, love?” he was telling Greg how much he cherished and adored him. For this reason, Greg never once doubted Mycroft’s feelings for him, or doubted his own feelings towards the politician.

Now, he was “dear.” He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when that had happened, but it was sometime after they had both retired. He would come into the house after a morning of puttering in the garden, and Mycroft would be in his favorite wingback chair with a book. He would look up over the tops of his half-moon spectacles and smile. 

“How is the garden today dear?” 

Greg would wander over and plant a small kiss on the bald patch in Mycroft’s hair.

“Fine Mycroft. It’s just fine.”

For all of the titles Holmes lauded on Greg, he would always be Mycroft. His Mycroft.


End file.
